


As One

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [118]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fear, Morning Sickness, Pregnancy, Protection, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: Morning sickness makes you doubt everything you know, but Loki is there to keep you steady. (Pregnant Reader--be aware.)
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [118]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 8
Kudos: 171





	As One

**Author's Note:**

> The reader in this fic was written to be the same reader from [Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902888), as long as you don’t get too picky about the timelines mentioned in both fics. (Shhhh...I needed them to have morning sickness.) I know that some people have asked for more pregnant cuddles and yesterday while writing, my stomach felt super queasy and icky, so here we are. I personally hate the idea of pregnancy and I’m afraid to read too many pregnant!reader fics in case it gives the universe Ideas, so I don’t blame you if you give this one a miss or go check out a different lullaby—maybe [Standstill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031213)?

You gripped the toilet and rested your forehead against the side, trying very hard not to groan aloud. You weren’t stupid. You’d taken in all the pop culture, read all the books, heard all the talk about how terrible morning sickness was, and you certainly hadn’t been dumb enough to expect _not_ to have to deal with it. But it was even worse than you were expecting. Although it lasted throughout the day, it first struck around the same time every morning: early. There was barely any light at all coming in through the windows when you’d had to tear yourself out of bed this morning and drop to your knees here in the bathroom. If history had anything to say about it, you knew you’d be here for the better—or worse—part of the next hour, and then it’d be time for you to wake up and get on with the day. You were exhausted. And you had six more months of this to look forward to? And then an infant? What were you thinking, assuming you could handle this? Loki’s child deserved a mother who could handle the role. 

You let out a sharp sigh and then sat up a little straighter to be sick again. You would _not_ cry right now, because surely crying while throwing up was a good way to choke to death on vomit. And it’d wake Loki up. He hadn’t been getting any more sleep than you had lately, and sometimes looking at the circles under his eyes made you feel worse that whatever hormonal storm was raging in your body. Probably an Asgardian partner could have withstood this better. Probably an Asgardian who was pregnant would just float through the world, smiling and glowing and sleeping soundly at night, and being everything that you couldn’t be. 

You did your best to keep from looking like shit all the time. You were still a member of the team, after all, and what was an Avenger if not someone who knew how to deal with discomfort? So many of the others carried on every day like everything was fine while traumatic memories chewed at their brains. They dealt with pain. They dealt with loss. And you couldn’t deal with an upset tummy and this inferiority complex? _Weak_.

Your head hung low between your shoulders as you tried to remind yourself to breathe. It did not make sense to let yourself get carried away right now. 

“Darling?” 

It was Loki, voice rough with sleep and worry. He’d silently opened the bathroom door and was peering inside. Some part of you wanted to reach out and slam the door closed, but you weren’t strong enough for that.

“Hey, you should go back to sleep. I’m fine.” You reached up to flush away the evidence of your sickness. You knew that sticking with you through this pregnancy meant that Loki was signing up for some pretty nasty stuff, but you weren’t sure you wanted him to have to look at your vomit just yet. The sight of the water swirling down the drain made you feel dizzy, so you closed your eyes and tried to breathe through the renewed queasiness.

He stepped into the bathroom and crouched beside you. He smoothed cool hands over your forehead, your cheeks, and you allowed yourself to whimper and press closer to his touch. All you wanted lately was his hands on you. Sometimes your desires were a little more x-rated, but usually this was all you wanted. The closeness. The gentle touches. The feel of his cool skin against yours. You lifted your own shaky hands to press them against his and hold him in place. He’d been so good about accommodating your sudden touch-hunger, but sometimes you needed more reassurance than even he could give. Your stomach twisted again, threatened to rebel, but you did your best to hold it together.

It worked. For a minute. But, all too soon, you were yanking his hands away and turning back towards the toilet, gritting out a pathetic “Sorry” before your stomach took over yet again. There wasn’t even anything left for you to throw up! It had been a _long_ time since you’d felt this helpless, and you hated it.

He slipped one hand beneath your shirt so he could rub your back. You hated that it made you feel better. He shouldn’t have to be here with you. Shouldn’t you be able to deal with this bullshit on your own? When you stopped bringing anything up from your stomach at all, you closed the lid and rested your forehead against it. It took a few minutes before you realized that you were speaking. You were mumbling apologies, barely-audible ‘I’m so sorry’s that you were sure Loki could hear nonetheless.

Sure enough, he moved in a little closer, and you felt him slide his other arm around your midsection. He did not grip you firmly, for which you were grateful, but his touch was undeniable. “Don’t be sorry. Please. Never be sorry. You are carrying _our child_. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” 

If you were feeling more like yourself, you would have known better to mention what came next, but you were just off-balance enough for your internal filter not to work. You didn’t have the courage to push him away and deprive yourself of the comfort he offered, but you did keep yourself from leaning in to him. “But that’s the thing, Loki. Doesn’t your child deserve someone stronger than this?” It was hard to speak around the lump in your throat; all you could do was whisper. 

You knew that there was really only one type of response that you could expect from him—a fierce, perhaps even angry—insistence that you were wrong. But it did not come. He pressed his forehead against the side of your head and breathed out, long and slow. And then he breathed in, just as long and just as slow. It was easy to match your breaths with his. Your stomach settled, a bit, and you finally allowed yourself to relax into his arms. 

“There is _no one_ , in this realm or any other, that I would rather do this with. You are plenty strong, dear heart, and I know that you are doing what you can to make sure that this child is born happy and healthy.” He slipped his other hand beneath your shirt, now, to press it against your belly. You weren’t showing yet, and you knew that it’d be months before the baby could start kicking, but feeling his hand there was always enough to soothe you. “If I could, I would take every last scrap of pain and discomfort for you. I’d take it all away so you could focus on nothing but feeling this baby grow. I would lie awake nights on end if I knew that it meant you could sleep peacefully.” That was going too far. You wanted to protest, tell him that you would never let him do that for you, but he laughed and shook his head before you could even open your mouth. “You are my queen. My partner. My strong, _beautiful_ mother-goddess. You can do this. _We_ can do this.”

A sob escaped you before you could get yourself back under control, and you turned to hide your face against his neck. It took a bit of adjusting, but soon enough he was seated on the ground with his back against the wall, holding you tenderly in his arms. You clung to him like a child, like he was the only thing in the world that could comfort you, and he held you through it all. You weren’t crying, only holding on for dear life. And Loki, the mercurial god of mischief himself, served as your anchor. He was your stability. He held you close and sang quiet songs in Asgardian into the top of your head. He stroked your back. 

If you dozed there, in that uncomfortable position on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, pressed solidly against the comforting smell of Loki, he let you. You would wake up later, and he would convince you to stay here, in bed, with him instead of venturing out into the Tower to get anything else done. He would kiss you sweetly and caress your body with heavy hands, and you would feel comforted and reassured, with renewed confidence in your ability to be the partner—the mother—you wanted to be.

But for now, he held you there, and you breathed him in and treasured the comfort of his presence. He believed in you. He trusted you.

He loved you.


End file.
